


The Innocence Is Gone And What Was Right Is Wrong

by AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: 6x18 Aftermath, Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, dark&twisty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4513146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell/pseuds/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damaged goods, is what Emily calls herself every morning when she leaves a foreign bedroom in the cold light of dawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Innocence Is Gone And What Was Right Is Wrong

**The Innocence Is Gone And What Was Right Is Wrong**

**.**

**.**

She spends some time in Paris, in Rome and in London.

London a high risk, but Emily doesn't care.

She already died twice, what could possibly happen?

 _Death_  would be such a release.

.

She sits in dimly lit bars, dressed in skimpy dresses with a -  _shut up and fuck me_  - expression on her flawless face.

Drinks far more than she should, snorting white powder from sparkling mirrors. Wonders how often she'll manage to cheat death.

It's not like it matters any longer. Not to her at least.

.

Her first night in Paris she meets Àmelie, a nice young girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. A woman that reminds her of home.

She laughs and smiles, holds her close while they dance. And Emily just wants to forget.

When Àmelie starts to kiss her she gives in, her fingers tangled between long strands of blonde hair. Her body fitting perfectly against hers.

.

In Rome she meets Marco, a young guy with dark hair and eyes as blue as the sky. She thinks about Ian when they sway over the dance floor. When he holds her close against his chest like it's the only place she belongs.

She should be scared, but she isn't.

He tastes like rich wine and cigarettes when he kisses her. His lust pulling her under like the raging sea. His kisses full of passion, when he takes her pushed up against the wall.

.

In London she meets Teresa, a fierce young woman with raven black hair and green eyes.

She's an artist, living in Camden. Her apartment filled with hundereds of paintings.

They make love for the entire night, gentle and tender. Each touch softer than the other.

Teresa's fingers gently tracing the four leaf clover on Emily's breast, carefully kissing the marks against her flat stomach. Showing her that she's still beautiful after all.

.

There are more.

James and Sophia in London, Luca and Anna in Rome, Léon and René in Paris.

Names and faces swirling through her mind. Toppling over, mixing together.

 _Names don't matter anyway,_ Emily thinks.

She doesn't even have one herself.

.

Bottles of wine and expensive bourbon bring her through the night, skimpy designer dresses and exquisite lingerie a memory of a long lost life.

Kisses and touches in dark nightclubs a silent reminder that she's still alive.

White powder on glass tables, white lies and a toxic promise to find herself again.

She's coming back to life night after night, just to fall all over again with the first rays of light.

Flying and floating, burning and drowning.

.

 _A fallen star,_ is what Patrick calls her. A man with blonde curls and blue eyes she picks up in a cafe in Paris. A man with a wedding ring around his finger who makes love to her on the balcony of his penthouse.

 _A fallen angel,_  is what Layla calls her. An Irish girl Emily meets when she's back in Rome. A girl with red hair and a face like an angel herself. Sparkling green eyes looking up at Emily from between her legs.

 _Damaged goods,_ is what Emily calls herself every morning when she leaves a foreign bedroom in the cold light of dawn. Walking the streets alone. The faint smell of sex still lingering on her skin.

The promise of love always just for another night.

.

She only sleeps in the security of her own hotel room, allows her eyes to fall shut with the first rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains.

The familiar lines of  _Poe's Annabelle Lee_  playing over and over in her mind. A distant melody, playing only for her.

The memory of Spencer's voice lulling her to sleep, day after day.

The only thing left to hold on to.

.

When she gets the call that Declan is missing she's in Rome.

The first thing she does is toss away what's left of her cocaine, the next she's doubled over in front of the toilet with her fingers down her throat to get rid of the wine.

She leaves Europe with the first flight in the morning.

Knows it's time to go home.

.

When Emily Prentiss steps into the FBI building in Quantico for the first time in seven months, she feels sick. And not just because everyone stares at her.

_She died._

She's supposed to lie six feet under and not walk the hallways of the bureau.

She makes it to the double glass doors in front of the bullpen before she starts to feel sick. With a hand pressed on her mouth she hurries to the nearest bathroom just in time.

Her hands are shaking, when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sink and she can't help but feel trapped in the building that had been a home to her once.

.

When she comes to a halt in the door way of the conference room ten minutes later, Emily already knows that she'll never be the same again.

**.**

**.**


End file.
